Writing in the Rhythm: Syncopation and the Oral Tradition in the Caribbean 

To understand how to write in my rhythms you must start with my tongue! It begins with an appreciation for both the oral and the aural, the ways in which the oral tradition is both personal and communal. Rhythm is ultimately a communal process, it is always in dialogue with someone or something, it springs up from somewhere, it does not sing or speak alone. Rhythm is at the heart of my creative process. Not only does it underpin the foundation of my approach to poetry, it also helps me make sense of the world. An intrinsic understanding of rhythm is an essential skill for any poet to develop as they move through their own methods of poetics. In this craft essay, I expound very briefly on different ways of approaching rhythm in Caribbean poetics while also leaving space for a generative exercise to allow you to explore in your own way the power of art making in poetry.

To begin understanding Caribbean rhythms requires an awareness of rhythms on and off the beat. Clapping is a fundamental tool of marking time and rhythm in Caribbean cultures. Through the use of clapping, complex structures of syncopation that are the foundation of Caribbean musicality are created and passed down. Syncopation—or moving with the unexpected—allows us to get at the different ways musicality operates culturally in the Caribbean. Caribbean art, rhyme, and rhythm are built out of two main components moving inside and outside of time and communal co-creation. To understand how these two goals are executed in the rhythm and rhyme in Caribbean poetics, we have to look at how different forms of rhyme are used in Caribbean poetry and how enjambment caesura or white space is used to give structure to syncopated rhythms. 

For instance, in the poem “Caliban,” Kamau Brathwaite begins with the repetitive phrasing “Ninety-five per cent of my people poor / ninety-five per cent of my people black / ninety-five per cent of my people dead / you have heard it all before / O Leviticus / O Jeremiah / O Jean-Paul Sartre.” The intentional phrasing creates a song-like rhythmic repetition that reveals not only an attention to rhyme, but how rhyme in its multiforms—perfect, slant, or otherwise—can give rise to a syncopated beat. There is also the aspect of storytelling through the stating of information as statistical fact: “ninety-five per cent of my people dead” acts not only as a grounding idea, it also allows readers to feel the cumulative effect of said statistics via repetition. It sets up repetition as key to the oral storytelling process. In addition, rhythm from the rhyming repetition of sounds such as the opening “O” in “O Leviticus” acts not only as invocation of the prophetic or priestly authority, but also exemplifies the repetition of calling outside characters into the frame of the oral tradition story. This calling in of outside forces through repetition represents not only the co-creative for those hearing the poem but also those spirits, entities, or ancestors that are also part of the communal process of creating. This is why I assert that rhythm is an inherently communal process. 

To practice these uses of rhythm, rhyme, and syncopation, I want you to:

Write a poem using only monostiches (single lines) or couplets (double lines) using a mix of different forms of rhyme, such as slant, perfect, or end in a repetitive pattern. You will use this structure to tell a story in a 3-stanza (6 lines each) poem that would be told to children to protect them from some form of “danger.” Think about the power of fairy tales and folklore stories—the intention behind their rhetorical moves—how they wrap you as a reader or listener into their narrative through sound and repetion in, similar to the excerpt from “Caliban.”

In all, I hope this short craft essay has helped you reader, have a new appreciation of how the oral tradition, syncopation, rhyme, and rhythm are interconnected structures pointing to the communal nature of poetics.